


I'll Be Seeing You

by AuntGinger27



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ian has a man bun, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Reincarnation, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-31 16:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12685629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntGinger27/pseuds/AuntGinger27
Summary: We think of time as this indefinite continued progress of existence. It's what we were taught to believe. We think of time as events in the past, present, and future on a linear scope, and we perceive them as a whole. But what if the perception of time is just that? A perception. What if time is this entity that doesn't move forward or backwards? What if it manifests to adapt to our reality? The even bigger question, what if soulmates actually exist?





	1. Death is easy, living is hard.

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for trigger warnings

**Egypt 2600 B.C**

A deafening clap of thunder, another ball of fire from the blue sky. This time closer. Their lungs burned as they ran higher up the mountain. They knew they were trapped, the gods would not be forgiving this time. The look of disgust the Pharoah gave his son burned to the very depths of his soul.

It was against the highest law for a slave to touch royalty in any way, this, Mikhailo knew. He's seen the rebel slaves have their hands chopped off for the crime. To commit adultery was unspeakable. Mikhailo knew that Ian would be killed and his father would make him be the one to do it. The Pharoah's guards screamed accusations of sodomy and rape.

They ran. They ran until the guards could not keep up with them. Ran until his father summoned the gods of fire and air. Until the once plentiful forest turned to sands, and the sky once blue like Mikhailo's eyes, a gift from the goddess of earth, turned black with sorrow with small twinkles like tiny tear drops that would be forever known as night.

"Just do it my lord. Free me," Ian gasped as he collapsed at the top of the mountain. He had no more energy left in him to run. There was nowhere to run anyway. They had reached the edge of the Kingdom. The water lapped fursiously where it met the land. He pulled his knife from his satchel and held it up to the Prince. "Just kill me. There will never be peace. You must kill me. They will send me to the Chambers and torture me. Please."

Mikhailo's chest heaved as his eyes searched desperately for another way. The kindgom was one big island surrounded by water. He'd heard stories that the slaves told each other about there being other lands with other civilization. Freedom. Mikhailo never really believed them. He knew it was just stories. Stories that they told themselves just to have hope. He could hear the guards approaching closer by horse and chariot. He kneeled by his lover and looked into those emerald eyes he's loved since he was five years old and snuck into the slave quarters to play with Ian. He remembered Ian 's mother would smile, nervous eyes always keeping watch for the guards. She tried to keep them apart but the young Prince was persistent, always sneaking in quiet as he could to see his friend. 

He remembered Ian sharing cobbler made of leftover berries and dough, a delicacy, something Mikhailo could have with a snap of his fingers, but something he truly savored because it was a gift from Ian.

Ian taught him how to fight with his hands and Mikhailo taught Ian how to read. Ian taught him the secret language of the slaves, and when his mother was sold to another royal family, Mikhailo held him tightly until his tears were no more, and his body no longer trembled. 

Secret games while the Kingdom slept and young hearts were awake. Tender touches that meant everything and nothing at all because at the time, they were merely boys and not old enough to know the meaning. A constant gravitational need to be near each other. The ache that never really went away when they were apart.

Tall tales and legends shared from slave generations that Mikhailo listened to in fascination, beacause Ian was a dreamer and he made the young Prince believe anything was possible.

And then came love, when they were no longer mere boys. When muscles replaced boyish softness, when wrestling turned into lingering touches and soft gazes. Mikhailo allowed Ian into his heart completely and eventually into his bed. Despite Ian's protests that it would be too risky inside the palace. The Prince pulled his lover into his bed and soon they rocked together as one. Ian moaned his confessions of love while looking deeply into the Prince's eyes. Mikhailo whispered his back against his lover's lips.

Neither heard the guards searching for the Prince, until it was too late.

Another booming clap of thunder and shouts from the guards brought Mikhailo back to the present. Ian was still holding the knife for him to take, desperation all over his beautiful face. 

The Prince captured his lips in a tender kiss. They both felt the finality of it. They knew they were living in their final moments together. 

"I won't do it," Mikhailo whispered through his tears. "My life has no meaning without you."

Ian sighed and closed his eyes, a single tear fell down his cheek. When he spoke again, it was in the language of the slaves, a mantra. He repeated until he was shouting confident, defiantly and the god of air became angrier, cyclones forming all around them. 

"Not even death will destroy our love! I bind myself to you Mikhailo. I bind my soul to yours forever and all eternity!" Ian swore to the gods and the guards as they approached. Ian turned to his lover.

"Another lifetime," Ian promised. "Our paths will cross my love, basherter, my soul mate. I love you," Ian smiled before plunging his knife into his chest.

 

**2018 A.C. Time Square New York City**

"Good morning, and good morning to you all viewing at home. I'm Meredith Viera and this is the Today Show. Today we have Mikhailo Milkovich with us. You all may have heard about him. He's an up and coming new author making waves in the publication world and is here to talk about his new novel titled 'Diary Of A Lost Man'. It is being made into a movie to be released Valentine's Day 2019. Everyone please welcome, Mikhailo Milkovich."

The audience clapped and cheered when the applausal sign flashed. Mickey adjusted his suit and waved to the live audience as he took his seat beside Meredith on stage. "Thank you Meredith," Mickey replied with a nod.

Meredith smiled. "So, Mikhailo. I received my copy of your book last week and I practically read it in one sitting. It's a beautiful and compelling love story. Can you tell us more about the novel?"

"It's more than just your typical love story. Boy meets boy. They fall in love. Minor hijinks then happy ending. It goes much deeper than that. It's a tale of life, destiny, faith, soul mates, and yes, love. How far one would go for the person they love? The story centers around Aleksandr and Clayton. As a reader, we get glimpses into Aleksandr's diary as he describes his journey to become one again with Clayton. Of course the names have been changed to protect the innocent." He and the audience shared a laugh.

"I think I can speak for everyone when I say I love a good soulmate story," Meredith sighed. "What I find unique about the story is how raw and emotional their love is. You have Aleksandr's character who carries the burden and memories each lifetime of knowing his soul mate is out there somewhere and doesn't remember him. Each lifetime Aleksandr still tries to find his soul mate. Then we have Clayton who has no memory of this amazing and tragic connection he has with Aleksandr."

The audience sat quiet as the camera zoomed in on Mickey's face. The people in Time Square paused, listening intently. His expression was emotional, a soft yearning as he talked about his novel that was a direct reflection of his own life, his past lives, _their_ past lives. Of course his fans didn't know that, no one did. Mickey never shared his truth. Who would want that burden anyway? Who would believe him?

Mickey adjusted his glasses and turned to Meredith. "As we learned in the beginning passage of Aleksandr's diary, Clayton bound his soul to Aleksandr's. The gods were tricky in those days, but they couldn't stop the soul bond because love is the only possession one can carry to the next life. Clayton's affliction is having his memory washed between each lifetime. But because his soul is bonded he experiences saudade."

"Absolutely beautiful," Meredith responded. "Your interpretation of soul mates puts me in the mind of The Symposium by Plato."

"I'm definitely no Plato, but I do admire his work," Mickey replied honestly.

It's true though. Mickey was there when Plato wrote his Symposium. He remembered sitting on the beach of Greece as a boy, listening to the stories of the Androngynous. Children of the moon. Plato spoke of humans having great strength at the time and threatened to conquer the gods. Zues decided to split the humans in half as punishment. The resulting humans would forever long for their other half. It is said that when they find each other, there is an unspoken understanding of one another, that they would live with each other in unity and would know no greater joy than that. But that was another lifetime, and not what Mikhailo's story is about.

Meredith's voice brought Mickey back to reality as she flipped through the book. "One of the most interesting things I found about this story is how you described the existence of time. Can you tell our viewers a little bit about that?"

"Of course," Mickey replied as the camera panned in on him. "You see Meredith, we think of time as this indefinite continued progress of existence. It's what we were taught to believe. We think of time as events in the past, present, and future on a linear scope, and we perceive them as a whole. But what if the perception of time is just that? A perception. What if time is this entity that doesn't move forward or backwards? What if it manifests to adapt to our reality? The even bigger question, what if soulmates actually exist?"

Meredith looked at Mickey intently as he spoke. The audience captivated. "So how would you explain the years that pass? History books?" Meredith asked.

Mickey shrugged. "That is all they are. Books. Another adaptation to fit our reality," Mickey replied and looked at the audience.

"Although there is a little bit of truth in most things you read."

Meredith tilted her head and studied Mickey curiously. Mickey shifted nervously, scared for a moment that he may have gotten carried away and revealed too much.

Mickey laughed lightly and shifted the focus. He knew people, he knew them well after living many lifetimes. "But then again, this is merely a fiction story, and I am just a writer," Mickey explained.

"One with a vivid imagination, I might add," Meredith smiled, at ease once again. "So, Mikhailo, out of all these different scenarios is there one in particular you related with the most? I mean, these characters are relatable. I can see a little of them in myself and the people I love. Audience, wouldn't you agree?"

The audience clapped and cheered their agreeance. Mickey smiled softly. He thought carefully before he began.

"I can definitely empathize in a way with these characters. Those of us who have been lucky enough to find love can relate to them in some way. There's not one specific scenario I am drawn to more, but I can think of one that was the hardest to write."

**2018 A.C. New York City, New York ******

********

Ian Gallagher shot awake in his bed, gasping for air, a cold sweat clinging to his clammy skin. He felt residual tears on his face from the dream he was having. He dreamt of a time in Egypt where he was running for his life. The parts in between foggy. He remembered staring into the bluest eyes of the most beautiful man he had ever seen, before plunging a blade in his own chest.

Those eyes. Ian felt like he had seen them before. In another lifetime, if such things existed. Ian felt fresh tears streaming down his face as he remembered how much love he felt for the dark hair man who haunted his dreams. It wasn't the first time he dreamt of him. Ian remembered dreaming of him when he was five years old. He knew, even as a child, that he loved this man. He fantasized about meeting him when he grew up. He felt a feeling of homesickness whenever he thought of him. How do you miss someone you've never even met?

Ian grew up to his 22 year old present self and never met this dark hair man with eyes as blue as the sky, whose name Ian didn't even know, who may have just been a figment of his imagination. Thoughts of him pushed to the back of his mind until today.

Saudade. That one word was the last thing Ian remembered before he woke up. The dark hair man of his dreams whispered it to him before fading away.

Ian pulled his phone out and looked up the word. He was a journalist, but he still relied on Wikipedia from time to time.

Noun. A nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost. The love that remains.

Ian let the tears fall at their will as he got dressed for the day. At least he had a term for this feeling he had every time he dreamt about the dark hair man.

Ian threw his hair up into a messy bun and buttoned up his tweed jacket. His eyes were still slightly red from crying. He splashed his face with some water before heading out into the city.

Ian was lost in his thoughts when he finally realized he ended up at Barnes and Noble. He stood staring past his reflection in the glass at a book. It was something about this book that made Ian stop dead in his tracks. It's like a universal magnet was tugging directly at his soul as he read the title: _Diary Of A Lost Man_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for suicide. 
> 
> Besherter- Yiddish word for soulmate or destiny
> 
> Keep in mind that this is a reincarnation fic, so yes there will be death(s). Pay attention to the tags though.
> 
> Okay so this work has been sitting on my tablet for over a year now. I had every intention of just making this one long story and not a multi chapter. To be honest, I didn't want to waste my time writing 50k words if no one was interested in reading it. So if you like it, let me know. Feedback motivates me.
> 
> Also, to make it less confusing, I decided to separate snippets of Mickey's diary stories into different chapters.


	2. Every version of you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mikhailo reaches an understanding of how souls become born again.
> 
> Clayton needs a friend. Aleksandr just might be the one he needs. This one is platonic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Diary Of A Lost Man entries will be italicized._ Mickey and Ian will be referred to as Aleksandr and Clayton.

**2700 B.C. Egypt**

Mikhailo, successor to the throne, Pharaoh of Egypt, is dying. His legacy he leaves behind, a wife he never wanted, and children he learned to love despite the fact. They surround him at his deathbed in the palace as the Pharoah takes his last breath, and the once young soul leaves its vessel. The Pharoah's final thoughts are of a boy with hair the color of embers, eyes as green as the sea, who dreamt of things much bigger than this life could offer. Mikhailo wonders what could have been as his eyes close one last time. 

Mikhailo doesn't quite know what this place is, or if it is even a place. He doesn't have the dialect to explain this void, this foreign space where he is. He knows it isn't Hades- where spirits walk beside man, knows that place is often mistaken for Hell. He's seen paintings of Hades in the halls of his kingdom in Egypt. He knows that it doesn't quite differ from his land. He's heard the hushed stories of the seals and the covenants made between the gods, long before man walked the Earth. He never quite understood them, or if it was meant for him to, so he never questioned it.

This area, this realm of sorts, is unlike anything he has knowledge of. There are no walls, no doors, no windows, no floor or ceiling. Just darkness, everything illuminated in a blue light. Only people standing in a line. Some appear to be sleeping, feet shuffling as the line inches forward. Others are awake, in a trance like state, expressionless.

And then there are screams. Agonizing screams that Mikhailo should want to run away from. He waits for the instinct to seek safety, the racing heartbeat, the adrenaline rush that comes when faced with danger. It never comes, and in that moment Mikhailo is certain that he has died and this space is where souls go. He catches sight of the source of blue light when the line moves forward.

There is a whirlpool of some kind, with blue waters he has never seen before. One by one the souls are being thrown into the pool. The expression on the souls faces as they are dipped into the pool are burned into Mikhailo's memory. He has never seen anything or anyone experience such agony. As Mikhailo moves closer he realizes the blue waters are not waters at all, they are in fact flames. 

There are creatures at the edge of the pool with the body of man and head of swine, Zhu Baji, leading the souls into the blue flames. When the souls emerge from the flames, they appear dazed and drowsy. They receive a stamp with a branding iron and they scream once more. Mikhailo doesn't understand it at this time, later realizes it's a tracking mark of sorts, to differentiate each soul from the next each lifetime.

Mikhailo turns to run, he has seen all he can take. He is brought down to his knees by a jerking feeling around his neck. It doesn't hurt, he notes absently. It probably would if he were of flesh. Just a paralyzing feeling like having a dream where you want to run but your feet won't carry you. Except this isn't a dream, it is very much reality. He can see a golden chain around his neck, a collar of sorts. His captor one of the Zhu Baji, reeling him in. It doesn't lead him to the flames though.

"What are you doing to those souls?" Mikhailo asks once he gains his bearings.

"They are being cleansed for rebirth," the Zhu Baji replies in a monotone voice. "But not you. Your memories are not to be erased."

"Erased? What? Why?" Mikhailo asks desperately.

They have entered into another space of unknown and he has no recollection of how they've got there. There are other souls there, significantly fewer than the other place. They have their markings already, on various parts of their bodies, and seem to be waiting on their turn for something. The souls here are dressed in garments much different from the land of Egypt. The ladies are dressed in trousers and the men in materials not known to Mikhailo. It feels as though they are from a different era and he has a feeling that these people are the elite ones. Instead of fear in their eyes they look.... _elated_.

The Zhu Baji doesn't reply at first, simply takes out a branding iron and holds it up high. 

"Because you are meant to carry the memory," it says and slams the iron to Mikhailo's chest.

Mikhailo screams. The pain is unexpected. It's brief but excruciating, unlike anything he has felt in the flesh, something not quite human. This pain hurts to the very depth of his soul.

And then he is falling, falling, falling for what seems endlessly. Finally there is a bright light in his eyes, his skin is covered with blood and mucus. A woman with sweat on her brow and a tired smile on her face is holding Mikhailo in her arms and is cooing at him.

Mikhailo remembers. He remembers _everything_. So he does what every newborn does. He cries.

**1975 A.C. San Francisco, California**

_June 15th, 1975. I ran into my soulmate today. Literally. This lifetime didn't seem to take as long. He is close to my age this time. He doesn't remember me, he never does. I still can't help but feel like fate is on my side..._

The sun is blazing, someone is blasting disco music, and Aleksandr does a little shuffle down the sidewalk along to the beat. He loves this era. It's one of his favorites. The music is good, the food tastes real, not like that silicone shit in the new millennium, and the drugs are even better. Life is pretty decent in the Americas, land of the free. Once an urban legend in Aleksandr's past life.

He's ready to come up swinging when some jive turkey on rollerskates knocks him to his knees. He doesn't live in the best neighborhood. He has a reputation in these streets and people usually didn't fuck with him. But, being a part time drug dealer, every once in a while some stone head would try to rob him and Aleksandr would politely break their kneecaps. 

He's two seconds away from doing just that once he is on his feet, then he looks down and sees _him_. It's not just any jive turkey, it's his jive turkey. With that same red hair he loves. It's shaggy this time, curling slightly behind his ears and hanging down in his eyes underneath his huge earphones. Aleksandr catches a glimpse of the soul marking, a dream catcher, on his chest where his shirt is twisted slightly open. Fitting, because Clayton is, always was a dreamer. It doesn't look like a tattoo, more like an extension of his flesh. Aleksandr knows his soulmate doesn't know or see this marking, this identifier, is burned to his soul. 

Aleksandr wants to punch him, ask him what the hell took him so long, then kiss that dopey look off of his face. It wasn't that long, he's only 21 years old. Even so, he knows he can't say anything. He can't intervene. He has tried it in another lifetime and knows what the consequences are.

"Whoa dude, I didn't even see you," the red head sputtered, hanging his earphones down around his neck. He hits the pause button on his Walkman and stands. He's comical in his ridiculously short shorts and tube socks, gangly legs flapping in his rollerskates.

Aleksandr wants to laugh, but he doesn't, simply sticks to his persona. He does hold a calloused hand out and helps his idiot off of the ground.

"What's a bougie kid like you doing in this part of town anyway?" Aleksandr asks.

"It's Clayton," he replies. "Family just moved here from Kansas. I was actually looking for a candyman."

Clayton glances down at the sidewalk with a goofy smile spreading on his face. 

"Looks like it's my lucky day," he says, and picks a baggy up off of the ground. He dangles it teasingly in Aleksandr's face.

It's coke. Aleksandr snatches at the bag and Clayton laughs, he fucking _laughs_ at Aleksandr like they are old friends. He starts skating backwards, holding the coke just out of Aleksandr's reach.

"Gotta be quicker than that blue eyes," Clayton taunts.

Aleksandr drops his arm down because he will not chase this spaz. From one end of the world to the next maybe, but not in this hood.

"You really must not be from around here. You obviously don't know who you are fucking with. I didn't get these tattoos for nothing," Aleksandr threatens, cracking his knuckles.

Clayton's smile falters, and his arms drop when he reads the ink on Aleksandr's hands. Fuck U Up. Aleksandr takes the distraction as an opportunity to snatch his drugs back and turns to walk away.

The red head follows, because of course he does, stupid skates scraping against the pavement. Of course his idiot would not be afraid of him.

"I have money," Clayton skids to a stop in front of Aleksandr, blocking his path. He starts digging into his pocket. He holds a couple of hundreds up to Aleksandr flippantly.

"Put that shit away before you get us both killed!" Aleksandr warns, looking around to see if anyone was watching. They weren't, luckily. Everyone was engaged in their own lives, sitting on their respective stoops smoking bud and drinking Colt 45, or hanging out lazily under car hoods tinkering with engines.

Clayton does as he is told, hastily shoving the bills back into his pocket. He looks nervous as he suddenly realizes his surroundings.

"Yeah, you're not in Kansas anymore Todo," Aleksandr scoffs.

"I love that movie though," Clayton laughs. He's at ease skating to catch up with Aleksandr as he starts walking again.

"Where are we going?" Clayton asks.

" _We_ aren't going anywhere. I'm going home and you're getting your ass out of here. Didn't your mama ever tell you to be home before the street lights come on?" Aleksandr asks.

Clayton is undeterred, keeping up with Aleksandr. "Yeah but I'm 18 now. Ma lets me stay out late. Stop trying to change the subject. You still haven't sold me any drugs yet. 

Aleksandr rolls his eyes. "How do I know you aren't the fuzz or a fucking nark?"

Clayton laughs. "How do I know _you_ aren't?''

All hope isn't lost on the kid. At least he has a little bit of street smarts, if even just a little.

Aleksandr doesn't reply, just snorts softly as the red head grins at him maddeningly. Aleksandr likes him, this annoying yet infatuating version of Clayton. They keep heading towards Aleksandr's apartment. The risk of Clayton knowing where he lives does not even matter to Aleksandr. He doesn't make a habit of letting many people into his home. But Clayton isn't just anyone. He is his soulmate.

The red head plops down on Aleksandr's couch when they enter his apartment, making himself at home like it's the most natural thing in the world. Aleksandr wonders in vain if his soulmate is toying with him and remembers who he is.

"You never told me your name," Clayton says. 

Aleksandr sighs to himself, his question answered. "It's Aleksandr."

"Aleksandr," Clayton says. "I like it. Doesn't fit a cool cat like you though, slinging dope and what not."

"Like you even know me at all," Aleksandr retorts. "I crush dweebs like you on a weekly basis."

Clayton's lip turns up in a grin. "So why haven't you?"

_Because your annoying ass is my soulmate, and I'd kinda miss that stupid face if I messed it up._

Aleksandr shrugs. "Rich kid like you is bound to have people come looking for you."

Clayton looks nervous for a moment, seriously debating if Aleksandr was going to live up to his reputation he spoke so fondly of.

Aleksandr laughs and plops down beside him. "Just joshin ya Red."

He digs his bag of coke out and tosses it to Clayton. 

"How much?" Clayton asks, holding the bag up.

"Really Red?" Aleksandr asks.

Aleksandr is starting to worry about his carefree soulmate. He's got a lot to teach this kid if he doesn't even know how to properly buy cocaine.

Then his lover surprises him, like he always does. Clayton licks the tip of his pinky and dips it into the bag. He takes the powder sniffs just barely then rubs it against his gums.

Aleksandr. Is. Proud.

Clayton is satisfied and shakes a bit on the back of his hand. He pinches one nostril and inhales deep.

" _Dynomite_ ," Clayton exhales happily with his eyes closed.

Aleksandr laughs, a genuine one, because he is fucking giddy that his soulmate is sitting right beside him in his shitty apartment, tooting coke like a pro.

Clayton opens his eyes and looks over at Aleksandr. He's got a lopsided grin on his face and his eyes are already heavy lidded. He takes the bag and shakes the drug on the back of his freckled hand, holds it up to Aleksandr.

"C'mere," Clayton whispers softly. 

It's probably not meant to be seductive, but it is to Aleksandr. A romantic gesture in his eyes. He almost pops a boner in his bell bottoms. If this were a YA novel, it would be the equivalent of candy and fucking roses.

Aleksandr leans in, locks eyes with Clayton, inhales. It's the best high he's ever had. Clayton smiles and licks the remainder off the back of his hand. It should probably be gross, but it just turns Aleksandr on. Makes something coil in his gut, warm and possessive.

Thats how they spend their evening. Clayton high off of the coke. Aleksandr high off just being in his soulmate's presence. And they talk. They talk about everything. Aleksandr learns that Clayton is here for college at Berkeley. He has dreams of a bigger life than what his sheltered one has been. Private school trust fund kid. Though he has dreams, he also has fears. Fears of his future and not living up to his family name. Fears of not knowing his place in the world.

"I've never had a real friend. Nobody seems to just get me ya know?" Clayton confesses, when the sun is starting to set. They have moved on from the coke and are sitting drinking beers, watching the Walton's.

Aleksandr feels a twinge of sadness in his heart. He can relate. He knows what it's like to walk this Earth, always feeling like something is off and nobody around him can relate. He speaks before he can even stop himself.

"I can be your friend," Aleksandr offers quietly.

Clayton looks at him, and he has such light in his eyes. It makes Aleksandr feel like he actually did something right for once. 

"Really?"

Aleksandr shrugs. "I haven't decked you yet have I? You're not so bad Red. And all that shit about your future, it's nothing. You're gonna go far kid."

They talk until the tv turns blue, no more shows for the night. Clayton stands to go. Aleksandr starts to panic, already missing him. _I just got you back_. He wants to think of an excuse to keep him, but knows he can't. He is but a new friend to Clayton so far in this lifetime.

Clayton digs in his pocket and holds out some cash to Aleksandr. 

"For the snow," Clayton says.

Aleksandr shakes his head, refusing the money. "Don't you know the first taste is on the house. Keeps em coming for more."

Clayton smiles and slips the money back into his pocket. "Did I just get invited back?"

Aleksandr flips him off. "Fuck you is what you were invited to."

Clayton laughs and skates backwards towards the door. "Catch you on the flip side blue eyes."

"Night John boy," Aleksandr replies. He waits a few moments then heads out after the red head. He knows that he's being such a creeper, but his neighborhood is shitty. He'll be damned if someone fucks with his soulmate. So he follows Clayton unnoticed, just to make sure he gets off the block unharmed, and when he gets home he writes in his diary. 

_June 15th 1975. I think I am falling in love all over again. Is that even possible? To fall in love with someone your very soul is connected to. I'm not even sure if this is falling, or if this is just a continuance. Does love even have a starting point or an ending in this life cycle of repetition? If so, what is the space called in between? I don't know the answers, probably never will. What I do know, I have loved, will always love every single version of him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will continue in this era.


End file.
